Fata Morgana, The Grand Illusion
by all-in-time
Summary: Things happen as implied in the legend. Set after series 4. Arthur is the King of Camelot. Morgana, still evil, returns to the court. Merlin as his advisor is caught in the middle, and the dark game of seduction begins. Hot, angsty Merlin/Morgana. Oneshot.


Summary: Things go as implied in the legend. Set after series 4. Arthur is the King of Camelot. Morgana, still evil, returns to the court. Merlin as the advisor is caught in the middle, and the dark game of seduction begins. Merlin/Morgana. Oneshot.

Rating: Between T and M. Mild language, adult themes.

Disclaimer: No ownership, no profit.

Unbetaed - sorry. I keep a look-out for mistakes.

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**. . .**

_. _

**- Fata Morgana -**

****** (The Grand Illusion)**

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_He had ruined her peace of mind. It is only fair she took his._

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**. . .**

_"Arthur, do you really think it wise?"_

_Generosity falls off of Morgana's mind like pleads of Uther's ears. __Merlin understands the sentiment - the desire to have her once again in their midst, to witness the return of old Morgana - that taunting chance, however slim._

_He also knows the futility of his attempt to dissuade the King on the eve of this great event. The deal has been struck, the arrangements made. All that's left for them is to wait._

_"You know what they say about friends and enemies," Arthur muses, studying the darkened window. Flames are dancing on the glass, and from inside, it looks like Camelot's on fire. __"I intend to keep her as close as I can."_

.

- a -

They put her up in her old quarters. In the Northern wing, overlooking the executions.

A bit symbolic, if you asked him. (But no one did these days.)

She's arrived, as promised, under the shadow of the night. Without the sound trumpets or feasts, this time. People of Camelot would not have had it otherwise. Her brother heralded her coming as a truce or some bloodless way to victory.

To the court, she's presented as his captive. To ease the crowds and to create an illusion of security.

_And what a grand illusion it is._

.

- b -

He walks in silently, without knocking - for a moment lingering at the doorway. The room is empty. She's in the middle of unpacking: heaps of clothes all piled on the bed, black on black, her only color these days. That and a flash of green.

"I assume you'll be wanting some changes, cobwebs and mold, to make you feel at home." He grins and folds his arms, leaning against the four-poster bed.

When she looks up, her smirk is already in place, and he gets the feeling he's been expected. _Does he really run like clockwork for her?_

Voice smooth from years of practice, Morgana answers lightly, "How thoughtful of you, Merlin - but that's missing is _you_ ... tied up to the ceiling."

Merlin smiles at the vaults above.

"Wrong place for these games. Too high, if you ask me."

Toying with an untold power, Morgana teases his jaw. It twitches. Something alarming awakens in his guts.

"_Oh,_" she hums - all poison and sweetness, "I could just simply let you hang."

.

- c -

As expected, Morgana will not dine with the family. Merlin is somewhat relieved, and hopes the same goes for Gwen. The Queen, though forgiving, has seen the true extent of her corruption.

(Smiles with compassion, when she sends him to _that_ room.)

Morgana stares at him, nonplussed.

The tray remains untouched. He can't keep the sarcasm from seeping into his voice.

"Perhaps Her Highness would like to eat."

Morgana grins, darkly.

"As would I, but you see..." A dark amusement enlivens her face, and she pushes the tray forward.

"There's no one to taste my food."

.

- d -

Merlin chews, slowly. Carefully. The meat has no weird aftertaste, and bread has the same colour as usual. The chances of being poisoned are next to none, but the intent with which she watches him won't let his suspicions subside.

He ignores it and they way she looks at him. - _Like Gaius, when he's teaching him a valuable lesson._

"Not so pleasant, is it, Merlin? Living in constant fear."

He shakes his head, swallows the bread. Slim fingers hold a grape as she plops it in his mouth.

Morgana licks her fingers, watching him squirm.

.

- e -

It comes without asking that he takes up the duties of "guarding her". He already practically follows her around.

Being the royal advisor, he no longer needs to clean nor muck up the stables - though Arthur still threatens him, when he gets him real mad.

This time, it's no threat, just a task that can't be trusted on anyone else.

"It's not that I do not believe her," Arthur admits with a sigh. "But there's more than just my trust at stake."

.

- f -

Camelot bores her, that much is clear.

For over a week, the knights have been plagued by bad luck. Statues and tapestries change overnight, strange damages in the castle. At last a day comes when she demands to be allowed outside, to reacquaint herself with the neighboring woods.

Arthur is still for a moment. Then resigns. "We know it's inevitable. You can't cage a beast without expecting some scuffle."

Merlin nods.

"I'll go prepare the horses."

.

- g -

The cuffs are a humiliating detail. Everyone stares at her as they ride through the city. Morgana holds her head high, as if fuelled by some sacred mission - something that lights her from inside, and won't let it affect her.

_What could possibly be worth all of this?_ Merlin wonders, knowing her true powers. With one fit of temper she could blow a hole in the tower, or flee the Castle with a single word.

When they reach the clearing, she dismounts her horse. They're in a middle of flowers, a field of forget-me-nots, ready for reaping. She kneels down to pick up a single blossom.

The knights of Camelot surround her like a giant mushroom ring.

_A fairy circle._

.

- h -

It's a long-held custom, a tradition, that the women of royal household bless the knights before they go into battle.

Morgana, the fay, approaches the regiment, laughing softly at the retreating rows, arching away from her, afraid of a curse.

In the end, only one man stands his ground. (The Great Hall sighs in relief.)

She ties the handkerchief, white for surrender, around his right wrist.

Merlin wears it and nothing happens.

.

- i -

_To know your enemy, you have to know yourself. _

Alator of Catha once warned him about her. But more than that, he warned him of himself.

He does not dare to go the the Crystal cave anymore, seeing that things there took a permanent turn.

He can't confide in Gaius, so old and already dying, his aging heart won't survive another ordeal.

Merlin sits, alone in the rooftop, unable to shake the feeling of Destiny, about to swoop down, digging its claws in unsuspecting prey.

.

- j -

Guinevere, the fairest, invites her to the gathering. There's just too few women. (Arthur, too jealous, forbids Gwen from joining.)

Merlin volunteers to blindfold the sorceress - the one way to ensure that she can't cheat - and sends her whirling as the music grows loud.

He joins the laughter, as the crowd chants on: W_ho's got a kiss for the pickety witch.._. Guinevere claps in merriment. Even the King is amused by the sight. For the shortest, strangest of whiles, it's just like it was with the four of them again. (Hiding from Uther, fighting the bandits, joking with Arthur in the midst of it all.)

There's a cheer and cruel laughter as the witch catches her prey. - Even without the executions, the crowd's bloodlust runs high.

He _knows_ she knows it's him, but regardless, Morgana kisses him, hard.

.

- k -

There's a secret weapon, one she's yet to put into work.

Sick and tired, (and slightly drunk from cider) he finally corners her and demands a straight answer.

"What is this - this twisted game you're playing?"

"You'll know. In time," she laughs and turns to go.

This time, he won't let her. A hand on her wrist - and the challenge is on.

.

- l -

It's a fight, a scuffle, a battle of wills.

Merlin thinks he's winning. Until the click of the buckle, as she disarms him with a kiss.

Warm, wet, and human. So _human_.

There's a loud clank and a pitcher is dropping, will completely drained from his limbs. She is soft and pliant and unresisting.

He gasps and pins her onto the mattress. To slip - it's incredibly simple.

.

- m -

He _enters_ her. The sensation is so overwhelming that Merlin completely freezes for a while. Furthermore - the implications it brings - whatever he does, he cannot take it back.

Both fully clothed, this should be so much easier, but instead it makes this much more bizarre. Like they've skipped some steps in the natural progression.

Hovering above her, hands flat on both sides, he tries to come to a decision. Morgana wiggles under him, watching him (failing to) breathe, and with a decisive tug at his neckerchief, she exposes more flesh.

_It's over, it's already done_, a voice chimes inside his head, only grows louder at the friction of her hips. _You can turn back from this_, another voice says.

Her black petticoats ruffle, scrape around his thighs, and the sound in tantalizing, tempting. Urging him on.

_There's a soft sigh and a sense of falling._

Slowly, with eyes closed, Merlin begins to move.

.

- n -

Guinevere believes in him, the goodness in his heart. Tells him to - _always_, no matter what - stay true to himself. _But what then if your soul is sold, your heart no longer yours?_

It won't happen again. It's the least he can do to pardon his actions.

"You think I'd tell him? The Once and Future King?" Morgana mocks and smiles at him, before growing annoyed and serious. "I've kept our secret safe, better than you your own."

Her eyes crinkle and point at the centre of his anatomy, where the traitor lies. Already stirring.

.

- o -

His fall is expected, almost foretold.

He can see her setting the traps, but in the end, it's him that walks right in it. Almost willingly, for he's always resented the games.

.

- p -

"What is Morgana up to, these days," Arthur wonders as he prepares to retire for the night. "I don't remember seeing her around."

"I'm sure she's there somewhere, sparing us from her presence."

Arthur frowns at the lack of accusations, his sudden indifference to his sister's conniving behaviour.

"Still, better check on her before you go, make sure she hasn't escaped."

.

- q -

It's not Morgana the King should be worried about. It's Merlin's precious soul that's at risk.

The candles are lit, a warm yellow glow that shifts behind the screens.

"Morgana?" he calls, before entering.

She's sitting on her bed, feigning a surprised look. Dressed in pure, white silk - the sweet, dainty thing_._

"Yes, do you need something?" she asks, determined to make him crawl. He swallows, sharply looking away.

A bare knee peeks from between her robes.

There's nothing to tell, it's needless to say.

.

- r -

There's no one to inform about their little arrangement. Because, well, how _could_ he?

He cannot even look the King in the eye, for the fear that somehow, the shame would shine through. Telling that his advisor had done exactly what he'd advised him against.

How easily, without resistance, he played another trump in her hands.

(One she, no doubt, will put to good use.)

.

- s -

Weeks pass and Morgana won't make a move.

The Kingdom blossoms. Knights return from another glorious battle. With the exception of Merlin, Camelot seems more peaceful than ever. Even Arthur waltzes through the castle with a newfound mirth.

There must be a plan, _of course_ she has one. He just hopes he finds it out first, before she has a chance put it into action. So he spies and hides in the alcoves, with a sense of deja vu so strong he has to consider himself for the moment.

They are right back in the old times, just not the ones he had wanted.

.

- t -

Her lips, blood-red, mar his neck.

He's already sunk deep into sin and it gets even better as they progress. Morgana's movements grow more erratic, less calculated or concerned about domination. The pleasures mount and he's not far behind.

It's all pivoting steadily out of her control, he can tell. (For some reason it doesn't make him feel any better.)

.

- u -

Bards pile verses when they speak of fated love. His feels a lot more like a nightmare. A horror story to frighten little kids.

(More than once had he caught himself thinking of her during the council. The smooth span of her waist and the sway of her hips.)

"Where the hell are you?" Arthur asks in one of those times.

"You've already answered that," Merlin mutters, far out of sight.

.

- v -

It's been a long while since she's been called that - _a witch_. Merlin watches as the beast flaps his wings, the wind swoops down at the brush of his landing.

The Dragon is always the last one he turns to. An option reserved for the outermost plight.

Merlin's voice sounds thin to his own ears.

(Kilgharrah just laughs, and laughs.)

.

- w -

It takes two more moons to lose all his inhibitions. If she wants this, she'll get this, and he's come too long a way not to claim his own.

The sheets are brittle as they twist and tangle, and he works her milk white body, making sure no shadows remain.

And, even as they move, something's building up - a strange kind of expectation, the threatening finality of some grand reveal.

"_Emrys_," she gasps and her eyes, they flash gold.

.

- x -

"You knew?" _Of course she did_, says the little voice at the back of his head. "How.. Or rather, when?"

"Quite some time ago," Morgana yawns and stretches like a cat. "In fact, I returned as soon as I heard."

"Why..." Merlin moans into the pillow, shudders from betrayal. Going straight to Arthur would have been so much easier. Merciful, even. But that is not her. Instead, she'd seduced him, played him for a cat pretending to be a mouse.

_There's a poetic sense of justice, _to lie and be lied to in return. She traces his back, and whispers, almost in comfort, "You know what they say about enemies..."

"Same thing they say about friends."

.

- y -

It's Guinevere who finds out first. As always, it's Merlin who bears the blame.

"I told you to keep a watch on her, not to _bed_ her!"

The King is naturally, understandably upset. His glare demands a justification. Merlin has none whatsoever.

At last, a weak, strangled voice, with tears welling in his eyes.

"I - I couldn't... resist."

Arthur's shoulders relax in something of a pity. He's a man too, after all. His voice is surprisingly calm when he speaks.

"Morgana has many... charms, I give you that. But imagine - the complications, if she were to produce an offspring. The conflict she'd set up in the line of succession..."

.

- z -

"The King thinks you want to beat them to an heir."

Morgana is amused, actually laughing at this implication. He's pouting and, obligingly, she straddles his lap.

"Relax, Merlin. Besides, that can't even happen."

"Whyever not?" he asks despite himself, toying with her robe.

Morgana pulls away, stands and walks over to the window. "When Morgause took me, I was already dead, Merlin. She saved me, using dark magic."

A wave of remorse crashes around him. So sudden, so strong, and ever present.

"But... " He fights back the implication - Morgana is not a Shade. _She's much too wilful. Remembers too much. _

"She brought you back. I know she did," he argues, staring at the truth. The woman before him is all flesh and blood. Undeniably Morgana.

The smile he gives him is broken on the edges.

"Yes. But not all of me."

.

_He wants to take her to the green and mossy fields, far from man-made towers or hills. A place where battle cries have never watered the shores. He'd take her by the hand and say their vows in the Old Tongue, before the Gods of Old, the passing breeze their only witness. __If he could._

_(She'd call him a romantic fool and would have exactly none of it.)_

_He wants to take what's left of her and fill it up with light. If she insists on being so one-sided, why on Earth can't __that side be Good?_

_"Fairytales, Merlin," she says, but that is not a 'no'. He grabs her hand and entwines it with his. One day they'll reach __an agreement._

_(When they're both too tired to fight.)_

**. Fin .**

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